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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453013">Give and Take</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorbee/pseuds/dorbee'>dorbee</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monocerotis/pseuds/Monocerotis'>Monocerotis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Blind Leading the Blind [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"First" time, Amnesiac!Ford, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot Significant Ball Gargling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:06:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorbee/pseuds/dorbee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monocerotis/pseuds/Monocerotis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Disco Night may have been a knockout hit, but the duo are left hungry for more. Hastily, they retreat to the cabin to pick up right where they left off.</p><p>(Note: This chapter is designed to be skippable. The series functions perfectly without it.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Blind Leading the Blind [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Give and Take</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The car’s interior crackles with static during the drive home. Fiddleford’s speeding like a maniac, but every stoplight is a chance to steal a few kisses. Arriving home, they kick open their car doors as if bursting a bubble, instantly linking hands. Fiddleford searches for his key as they reach the door. A few clicks and twists later, he tugs Stanford inside. “I’d say that was a success,” he breathes, shutting the door behind them. “What d—”</p><p> </p><p>Ford plants one hand on the door, pulling Fiddleford in for a rough kiss. The act comes to him quite naturally—he’ll even say he likes it! He grabs Fiddleford’s tie and smirks, walking backward with unjustified confidence. When he feels the couch, the measured smirk grows to a full smile, and he throws Fiddleford into the cushions. There’s a loud creak, and he hesitates, but a few seconds prove the couch to be sturdy. That fear assuaged, he pounces on Fiddleford like a wild animal. Their hands entangle, heartbeats pounding into each other.</p><p> </p><p>An astonished cry leaves Fiddleford as Ford crashes into him. It’s the easiest thing in the world to yield to his hands, though every move is a surprise. “F-Fordsy—” Cut off again as his lips get nibbled, he cants his hips into Ford’s. Their half-mast hard-ons are quickly reaching their peak. “Oh, Lord... I... f-<em> fuck </em>...”</p><p> </p><p>Ford is unaware of his dick bursting through the seams of his pants until it touches Fiddleford’s. No wonder he’s so lightheaded, their cocks are throbbing! That, combined with Fiddleford’s remarkable use of profanity, gets Ford to ease up for a moment. “Wait—F, are we going to—do we—” he grabs his waistband and glances down at his bulge with a bashful smile, face growing hot.</p><p> </p><p>With Ford looming over Fiddleford, it’s difficult for him to be coherent. He licks his lips. “I—y-you sh—that, uh…” He goes to adjust his misaligned glasses, but opts to set them down on the coffee table instead. “M-maybe we should get to a bed.” </p><p> </p><p>“Bed! Right, right, we should… bed.” Ford stands up, far too aware of his genitals—or exactly aware enough? Time would tell. He pulls Fiddleford off the couch, staring at him before he asks, “My room or your room?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of consideration before Fiddleford replies. “Yours. You’ve got more… real estate for us to work with.” Ford’s still visibly out of his element, so as an afterthought, he kisses him on the cheek. Ford blushes and follows him upstairs, only passing to open the door and slam it shut behind them.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” he says, taking a deep breath in and out. “Though we’ve likely done this before, I can recall no sexual experience of my own.” He takes off his jacket, dropping it to the floor and undoing his belt. “But with your help and guidance, we’ll make a very good night for ourselves.”</p><p> </p><p>The thought of reteaching Ford how to dick him down sends a shiver up Fiddleford’s spine. Their trysts were once brief and clouded in shame—from the burden of sin, for the partners they neglected. Fiddleford’s long since accepted his impending divorce, while Ford’s forgotten his hangups altogether. They’re cut loose. “Oh yes, we will.” He tears off his jacket as well, nimble fingers unbuckling and removing his belt in half the time it takes Ford. “Once we get these damn suits outta the way, how about I crawl onto your bed an’ we pick up right where we left off?” He kicks off his pants and unbuttons his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I was thinking,” Ford trips over his pants when he pulls his feet free. “What if we, we can,” he removes his shirt, fumbling on every other button. “When we’re in my bed, we can, y’know, we’ll,” he pulls off his boxers and tosses them aside. When the draft hits his junk, he freezes. Oh. Oh, he’s naked. Oh, Fiddleford’s naked too. Oh man. Oh God. Oh man. “We’re naked,” he states, because it’s true.</p><p> </p><p>Giggling, Fiddleford rubs his arm. “So we are.” He nods towards the bed. “Y’still wanna get comfortable, or…” his eyes drift downward, coming to a stop at Ford’s boner. The way he trails off reveals he’s weighing a variety of possibilities. Ford, on the other hand, doesn’t even know where this thing goes, but he agrees that the bed is the right place to be. He flops down, grabbing a pillow and stretching with his back arched as he gets comfortable. Not sleepy-comfortable, just… comfortable. He nods for Fiddleford to join him.</p><p> </p><p>Fun as it’d be to get railed into the mattress, Ford’s decision to take the low road feels wise. Fiddleford climbs on top with a grin, and they throw tender caution to the wind. Grabbing Ford’s shoulders, he goes in for another ravenous kiss. He shoves his tongue into Ford’s mouth while their hips grind into each other like teenagers. When he finally pulls away to breathe, there’s a thin silver trail connecting their lips.</p><p> </p><p>Ford lays there, gasping for breath. Normally he’d want to wipe away the spit (ew!), but it feels holy. As if it would be wrong to destroy the fluid bond between them. Kissing Fiddleford, he imagines their tongues dancing like ice skaters. The collisions of teeth above and rock-hard human male cocks below both interrupt his thought. They’re electrifying, and each touch leaves him halfway kicking and screaming. “I, I can’t—” Ford stammers, tugging Fiddleford into him and sinking his teeth into his neck. “I need, I need, I <em> need it </em>,” the words drift off as Ford’s hand fumbles for his own shaft. He’s more comfortable, but he thinks Fiddleford would like to get in on this.</p><p> </p><p>Ford’s newfound biteyness is downright feral, and Fiddleford hopes it never goes away. He can’t see the marks on his skin, but he doesn’t think he’ll stop feeling them anytime soon. Ford brushes his cock, and he whimpers at the unique sensation of six fingertips. “H-hold on.” Before Ford can remember how to pump himself, he positions his mouth readily over his cock. “I have a better idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Ford stares down at him for several seconds before getting any idea of what’s going on. “Wait, are you going to put it... in your mouth?” Laying his head back, he shrugs, arms crossed to resist the temptation of touching himself. “Proceed.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a miracle Fiddleford doesn’t lose himself to an unrelenting fit of hysterics. “Proceed.” Once upon a time, Ford might have killed a man to receive this honor, but now? He’ll just have to jog his memory a bit. “With <em> pleasure </em>,” he purrs, wiggling his tongue under Ford’s shaft and plunging down. Humming, he remains in place for a moment before getting to work. One hand grips Ford’s hip while the other wanders down to start touching himself.</p><p> </p><p>Ford lets out a long, loud, ugly moan. This is nothing he’s ever felt before—the tongue, the vibrations as he bobs up and down. Without realizing it, Ford reaches down to cover his lover’s hand on his hip. “You’re—this is—<em> wow </em>...” The last word comes an octave higher when Fiddleford’s teeth brush against his head. His eyes roll back in his skull as he lets out an animal noise. It’s so beautiful he could cry. They should’ve sent a poet.</p><p> </p><p>No praise Ford’s doled out, in bed or otherwise, has been half as heartfelt and impassioned. Fiddleford was already hitting Ford with his best shot, but now he gives what some might call “110%”. He hollows his cheeks, picking up the pace and swallowing around him whenever he’s able. Ford can’t tell what Fiddleford is doing, exactly, but he can tell he likes it—he <em> loves </em>it. He forces his fingers to interlock with Fiddleford’s, squeezing his hand. He’s far past the point of forming verbal appreciation, so he gets physical. One method of doing that is clutching Fiddleford’s hair and pulling. Fiddleford yowls with a mouthful of cock—a pleased yowl. In thanks, he pulls off Ford and does something he hasn’t done since college, and never to anyone but the man beneath him. He gargles his balls like dentist-prescribed mouthwash.</p><p> </p><p>The not-so-new experience triggers an involuntary, guttural gasp. Ford’s frozen for several seconds as memories wash over him—of all the times before. They did so much more than hold hands in college, didn’t they? Avalanches of memory like this are overwhelming. Ford only grasps the important parts. He pulls Fiddleford up and bends him back into a rough kiss. “I can’t only receive,” Ford says in a brief moment unlocked from his lover’s lips. “Let me give you something in return. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Fiddleford also hasn’t contorted like that since their dorm room days. That alone would fry his brain, but the deftness with which Ford moves his lips? Every word he speaks? They burn it to cinders. “I—y-y-you want to—” His pupils circle between his dick, Ford’s hands, Ford’s mouth… and of course, Ford’s dick. “Is th-there anything you’d… like to give?” Staring into Ford’s eyes, those pupils grow into saucers.</p><p> </p><p>Blindly, Ford searches for a clear memory of <em> something </em> he enjoyed. He can hear Fiddleford screaming, crying, begging for more, but experiences complete alexithymia. He decides he can use his partner’s predilections as a reasonable starting point. “You—I—we seemed to like,” he reaches a hand down and sinks his nails into Fiddleford’s asscheek with a smile. “I mean, if it’s sanitary.”</p><p> </p><p>Fiddleford’s cut off mid-moan by Ford’s stipulation. “Right. O’ course.” Groaning instead of moaning, he leans back to sit on Ford’s thighs, kneading the bridge of his nose. “Well, if that’s what it takes.” Before Ford can object, Fiddleford hops off the bed and grabs a shirt off the floor. It happens to be Ford’s, not his, but he throws it on anyway. “Be a dear ‘n’ stay put while I get cleaned up, then, alright? I won’t keep you waitin’ long.” His hand is already on the doorknob when he’s finished talking.</p><p> </p><p>Ford is beet red at the sight of Fiddleford in <em> his </em> shirt. Grabbing the cast-off blanket, he pulls it to his chest, swallowing hard. “Okay, be safe!” He does not know what “cleaning” entails.</p><p> </p><p>Misguided the sentiment may be, Fiddleford’s touched by Ford’s parting words. Dashing downstairs, he grabs a bottle of distilled water from the fridge. It’s <em> supposed </em> to be for experiments, but tonight’s the most experimenting either of them have done in a while. He retreats to the bathroom and takes care of business in record time. Rubbing his still-tender ass, he ascends the stairs at a mere light jog.</p><p> </p><p>“‘M back,” he pants, looking defeated as he opens the door and swings it shut behind him. Ford’s shirt is slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it onto a chair before collapsing onto his boyfriend. <em> “Lord almighty in heaven above.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Ford pulls Fiddleford into his arms and holds him close, in much the way Fiddleford had once held him. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Did something happen?” he asks in quick succession. Before Fiddleford can answer, he runs his hands through his hair and shushes him. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay...” He can’t help but be protective.</p><p> </p><p>Ford’s anxieties are still quite misplaced. Fiddleford still finds it heartwarming. “Oh, sugar, I’m sorry for bein’ such a big baby about all this. I’m fine, honest.” He lifts himself off Ford a moment before settling into a position where he can reach the nightstand. “I’m just outta practice... an’ outta shape.” Grinning at the jab at himself, he searches for the bottle of lube inside the drawer. “Now, d’you want the honor o’ gettin’ your end o’ the equation ready? Or should I take care o’ that for you?” Once he finds it, he turns it around in his hand before Ford’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>It takes Ford several seconds to identify the tube. Though it seems medicinal, he can recall its necessity in the act. He looks between a particularly throbbing erection and his willing partner, blushing. “If you would, F.”</p><p> </p><p>“O’ course, Fordsy.” Offering Ford one of the cheek kisses he’s so fond of, he pops off the cap as he sits upright once more. Squeezing a generous amount into his hand, he coats every finger, rubbing to warm it up. “Jus’ don’t be mad when I hafta stop.” He thumbs the head of Ford’s cock and provides the best and briefest handjob he’s ever experienced.</p><p> </p><p>A high-pitched moan escapes Ford. Again, he expected this to be more clinical, but Fiddleford is a regular sexual dynamo! By the time he’s freed, he’s gasping for breath, hands clutching the bedspread. It’ll be a challenge not to cum. He <em> loves </em> a challenge. He grabs Fiddleford by his shoulders, tossing him on his stomach. He presses his weight into his back and leans in close, nipping at his ear. “I’m ready. Are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Fiddleford thought he was ready until he ceased being the person in charge of the situation. Now he feels unprepared in all the most wonderful ways. The unexpected nibble makes him mewl like a kitten as he lets Ford flatten him. “O-oh God, Stanford, I—” Scrabbling for a way to sink his fingers into the sheets, he pants before he can answer. “Y-y-yes, please, <em> please </em>…”</p><p> </p><p>Ford takes a deep breath in and out. Okay. No pressure. He rises over Fiddleford and gives himself a few quick strokes, biting his lips as he does, to get his hand lubed up. Then, with some hesitation, he sticks a finger in Fiddleford’s ass. He’s worried that he’ll hurt him, but the noises Fiddleford makes are more than pleased. So he adds another finger. Hell, two more fingers!</p><p> </p><p>Calloused, broad, and thick—one finger is enough to make Fiddleford’s back arch. By the time Ford’s jammed three inside of him, it’s as if his spine is a bowstring. <em> “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—” </em> Forgetting his distaste for swearing, he blinks back tears and gasps. “Th-thank you, baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome.” Ford jerks his fingers from Fiddleford’s hole and slides in the main event. In a manner best described as “guttural”, he moans, clutching Fiddleford’s shoulders. He never would’ve made this comparison before, but anal sex is like a hug for your dick. “I hope this is,” he gasps for breath and wipes some sweat from his brow, “as good for you. As it is for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Fiddleford is sweating just as hard, though he’s in no state to wick it away. He attempts to nod in reply. That turns out to be even harder than forming a sentence. “I-it’s—it’s perfect,” he stutters, his whisper antithetical to his typical drawl. “I m-missed this.” By now, there are too many tears to blink away. “I missed y-you.”</p><p> </p><p>Nothing about that final phrase is inherently sexy—he could even construe it as negative. But Fiddleford speaks with such joy at reliving what he thought he’d lost forever. It pushes Ford over the edge on an emotional level. He cries out, digging his nails into Fiddleford’s flesh. Did he cum? No, not physically. He needs to take a few seconds to breathe, but he’s resolute in bringing this to its conclusion. He pushes himself back up and returns to pounding Fiddleford’s precious twink ass. “I won’t finish until you do.”</p><p> </p><p>Going this far must’ve been hard enough for Ford, so the fact that he’s willing to hold out as long as it takes? To do one of the few things he can do for Fiddleford that Fiddleford can’t do for him? To love him that much? If he wasn’t already crying, he would be now. As it stands, he descends into what some might call “blubbering.” His continued screams of pleasure make it clear it’s happy blubbering. He tilts his head back enough to get a sideways glance at Ford. He’s an unflattering sight, but his puffy eyes brighten when they lock onto Ford’s face. The look conveys unspoken gratitude.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t long before Ford feels his legs going weak, stars in his eyes. He was going to keep his promise, but perhaps Fiddleford would benefit from some... coaxing. Ford grabs his hair, wraps his other arm around his chest, rams his dick up his ass, and keeps it there. Fiddleford doesn’t mind the help, especially when Ford is doing everything he loves most all at once. None of that is what sends him hurtling towards release, though. It’s the fact that the slight shift in position is enough for Ford to deliver a fatal blow to Fiddleford’s prostate. With a hiccuped shriek of Stanford’s name, he cums like a firehose, toes curling as his eyes roll back. His weight leans into Ford until he can’t hold himself upright. Ford’s resistance fails and he roars, cumming into Fiddleford’s awaiting asshole.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls out and places Fiddleford in the space on the bed next to him, resting his head on his chest and nuzzling. “You’re—we’re, uh—we’re at the—how about—” Ford’s rambling in his excitement. He cuts off the garbled words with a wild laugh, wraps his arms around Fiddleford, and squeezes. “I love you!”</p><p> </p><p>With the fortitude of a dying fish, Fiddleford hugs back, managing a weak chuckle. “I love you too.” He breathes in the scent of Ford’s hair before kissing him on top of his head. “I know you like t’ get washed up right quick, but I…” Stretching and yawning, his eyes go half-lidded. “I’m gonna need a minute, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>Ford has no desire to clean up. The only desire he currently feels is to never, ever let go of Fiddleford. Given Fiddleford’s exhaustion, they’ll spend some time soaked in sweat and cuddling. That doesn’t seem half-bad. He places his hands on Fiddleford’s cheeks and rubs circles into them with his thumbs. “You’re my favorite,” he says through a giggle. “Take as long as you need.”</p><p> </p><p>Being afforded the chance to take a breather is a welcome change of pace for Fiddleford. Nestling into the blankets, he sighs with relief. “Favorite what, exactly?” Before Ford can answer, he shrugs it off. “Whatever it is, you’re my favorite too.” He closes his eyes and drums his fingertips against Ford’s back.</p><p> </p><p>As much as Ford wants to put an answer to Fiddleford’s question, the words don’t come. All he sees is Fiddleford’s face, that day on the lab floor. The tears in his eyes, and how he held him. Ford doesn’t think he knew true love before that day. “You’re my favorite,” he repeats, this time with a shrug, for lack of a better answer. He breathes a deep sigh as he rests his head on Fiddleford’s chest. His own eyes ease shut, imagining the fingers on his back as raindrops. The next words come half-asleep—he may never have said them otherwise. “You’re my soulmate.”</p><p> </p><p>Eyes snapping back open, Fiddleford’s heart skips a beat or two. His tapping ceases, and if he had tears left to cry, they’d be falling. “Y-you think that?” He’s so quiet, Ford doesn’t hear him. All the better, as the steady rise and fall of his shoulders reveals he’s already nodding off. His peaceful state calms Fiddleford in turn, and he accepts his exhaustion soon after. “Then. Goodnight, soulmate.”</p><p> </p><p>Though his sleep is dreamless these days, slumbering in Ford’s arms is the greatest respite he’s ever known.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WKULOOHG WKDW VXFK D FUDVV VHQVDWLRQ<br/>VWLOO SURGXFHG D UHYHODWLRQ,<br/>WKHB VHH HBH WR HBH DW ODVW<br/>DERXW WKHLU ORYH DQG WHQGHU SDVW.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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